<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Taking Care by orphan_account</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016495">Taking Care</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ABDL, Bed-Wetting, Embarrassment, F/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:01:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk has a habit of working himself too hard. Roxy has the perfect solution.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Roxy Lalonde/Dirk Strider</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Taking Care</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is mostly an exploration of my own feelings about ABDL through post-canon pale DirkRoxy; this fic is not meant to be sexual, although there is definitely a sexual undertone/presence of kink themes that have made me rate it M. Hope you like it :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your name is Dirk Strider, and at this point, you honestly don’t know how long you’ve been working. Sawtooth is stretched out on the table in front of you, chest chassis wide open and sparking, and the sparse windows of your workshop only let in small slivers of moonlight. Hm. Moonlight. Considering that it was dark outside when you first started working on these updates and that it was almost definitely bright outside for at least a bit earlier, that’s really not a great sign for “self care” or whatever.</p><p>It’s fine, though. You’re not really that hungry or tired, and besides, you’re almost done with the installation you’re working on. You’ll take a break when it’s done, which should be in just a couple of hours.</p><p>As you reach for a wrench, your shades flash momentarily to let you know that you have 100 unread messages. You frown slightly, but honestly, only 100 isn’t that bad for how long you’ve been working. Besides, most of them are probably Dave rapping or something. You’ll take care of it later.</p><p>At least, that’s what you think until a singular notification pops up directly in your line of vision. You blink at it for a moment. Your shades are set to do not disturb - they always are when you’re working, ahd the notification about all of the unreads is proof that you didn’t just forget this time around. </p><p>“What the fuck?” you murmur. Either the message is from Hal, or someone else has managed to hack into your extremely secure  (if you do say so yourself) network to tell you something. Huh.</p><p>You place the wrench back down onto the table and open the notification with no small amount of curiosity. </p><p>
  <span class="pesterlog">--</span>
  <span class="roxy">tipsyGnostalgic [TG]</span>
  <span class="pesterlog"> began pestering</span>
  <span class="dirk">timaeusTestified [TT] <span><span class="pesterlog">--</span></span></span>
</p><p><span class="roxy">TG: dirk!!</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: u have had dnd on for over 24 hrs straight buddy</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: u better have a good reason bc im worried!!</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: if i find out that youve been working this whole time im going to kick ur ass</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: (right into bed for a good nap)</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: bc u almost def need a break rn and also theres smth i wanna talk to u abt!</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: How did you get through my do not disturb?</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: leet haxxs obvs</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: ur whole network is not as secure as u think :|</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: and um speaking of that i kinda have a thing to talk to u abt!</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Okay, well, can it wait?</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: I’m trying to finish these updates on Sawtooth. It shouldn’t take too much longer, I promise, but I’d really prefer to get it done in one sitting.</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: um</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: i mean i guess it could but i still want u to take a break </span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: and uh</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: idk i think maybe u might wanna talk abt this now</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: What is it?</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Is everyone okay?</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: o yeah dw everythings all good!</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: If it’s not an emergency, I really have to get this done.</span><br/>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="pesterlog">--</span>
      <span class="dirk">timaeusTestified [TT] <span><span class="pesterlog"> ceased pestering </span><span class="roxy">tipsyGnostalgic [TG]</span><span class="pesterlog">--</span></span></span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p><span class="roxy">TG: dirk wait!!</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: look ok so this is gonna sound kinda weird but i promise this was an accident</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: the other day hal asked me to help him find some old logs of his that ud put under a captcha</span><br/>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>Your hand stops in its path to pick up the wrench again. It’s probably nothing, Roxy probably just stumbled on some embarrassing selfies or something, but… there is one thing in your old files that no one, not even Hal, knows about. It’s under lock and key, of course, but you know that Roxy’s a more than adequate hacker. So, reluctantly, you reply.<br/>
</span></span></span></span></p><p>
  <span class="dirk">TT: Why didn’t either of you just ask me?</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: he said he didnt want to bother bc youd just say no and i figured he was right</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: he knows u pretty well dirk lmao</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: but nyway i was doin my haxxs and while i was looking 4 the logs hal wanted i found some other captcha locked stuff</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: and dirk i love u bby but ur files r a MESS</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: like not even an algorithmic mess just a fuckin mess</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: so i had no idea what the logs would b labeled as!</span><br/>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is <i>not</i> looking good. There are very few things that you keep in your - organized in a way you understand, thank you very much - captcha-locked folders. And, of course, the one fucking thing you wouldn’t want Roxy to find is one of them. </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>But it’s fine. Surely she would’ve clicked on “hjjrd,” a clearly large folder where all of the logs are stored and not “sw2981binaryvers,” which contains literally two images and nothing else. Hell, even if she clicked on “eqstuff,” that would be embarrassing but ultimately fine. </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="dirk">TT: Did you click on “eqstuff?”</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: no lmao im an experienced hacker</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: i know how 2 avoid horse cock </span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Do I know want to know what that even means?</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: nope!</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: nyway lol um</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: i got into the 2981 one</span><br/>
</span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>Fuck.</span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="dirk">TT: Fuck.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Sorry you had to see that. Irony’s a bitch.</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: ah yes the wily strider ironies</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: dirk hon ily but i rly dont think that was ironic</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: ik u</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Right, so you know why that’s not something I’d be interested in.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Roxy, seriously, sorry you saw my weird files, but if that’s really all, I need to finish this.</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: u need to take a break</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: also if that rly was ironic i bet u wouldve named it smth like WEIRD MAN BABY STUFF or w/e</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: not that i think its weird!!</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: but like that wouldve been a good ironic name for it</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: it seems like u tried to hide it tho and not fill it w way too many pics like the horse one</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: so BOOM</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: not ironic</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: another case solved by the great roxy</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: … </span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Okay, fine.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: It’s not completely ironic.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: I made that folder when I was sixteen, though.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: It’s not relevant to me anymore.</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: mhmm</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: n thats why u last opened it a week ago?</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: How do you even know that?</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: i have my ways</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: wonk</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: rly tho im not trying to judge u or make u feel weird or anyth</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: i just thought</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: i mean</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: if thats smth u want</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: i could do that for u</span><br/>
</span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="pesterlog">--</span>
          <span class="dirk">timaeusTestified [TT] <span><span class="pesterlog"> blocked </span><span class="roxy">tipsyGnostalgic [TG]</span><span class="pesterlog">--</span> </span></span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Fuck. You push your shades up into your hair and rub at your eyes. There’s no way you’re going to finish the fucking updates now, not with… <i>that</i> set loose from your subconscious. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>It’s not something that you’ve thought about in a long time. Well - okay, no, it’s not something that you’ve allowed yourself to think of in anything beyond passing in a long time. But now it’s here, pink text on a silver platter and really, really, you can’t do this. Nope, back to work. Scratch whatever you said before, you can totally focus on the complicated wiring in front of you while also thinking about… that. The captcha codes stored in a completely different, innocuous file, just in case, the fact that you used to figure it would be Roxy doing this, if anyone, the knock on your door. Wait. What the fuck?</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Dirk?” </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>God fucking damn it, it’s Roxy. Of course it is. Fucking void powers being fucking useful for transportation. Fuck.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Dirk, we don’t have to - we don’t have to talk about any of that stuff, okay? But you really need to take a break.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Okay, no, it’s fine. Maybe if he just stays quiet, she’ll -</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“I know you’re in here, and I’m about to void your door unless you let me in,” Roxy calls. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You sigh and push your chair back, wincing at the way it scrapes along the metal floor. God. Your whole body feels suddenly and abruptly sore, but then again, you really should know by now that that’s the price you have to pay for spending over 24 hours at your worktable. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You make it to the front door of your small house, which is really nothing more than a replica of your old apartment but on solid ground, and opens it to find Roxy glaring up at you. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Hey,” you say, tone casual and not at all like the tone of someone whose best friend just discovered that he may or may not be into ABDL-adjacent things. Uh. Yeah, it’s definitely casual. “Uh-”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Oh my god,” Roxy says. “You look exhausted, holy shit, when was the last time you slept?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before stepping into your house and shutting the door behind herself. “Actually, don’t tell me. Let’s just get you upstairs for a nap before you collapse or something.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“I don’t need a nap,” you say, probably a little more defensively than you mean to. “I can take care of myself, and this isn’t - you said we wouldn’t talk about this stuff.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“What stuff?” Roxy asks. She puts her hand on your elbow and starts leading you down the hall to your room, and at this point, the exhaustion is starting to hit and you’re a little too tired to protest. “We’re not talking about any sort of stuff, you’re just going to take a nap, and once you’ve rested and gotten some food, we’ll talk, okay?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Roxy-”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Nap,” she insists, and whoa, when did she become strong enough to push you down onto your bed? “Do you need me to try and do a voidy thing on your awake-ness or something?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You readjust yourself so that you’re only pulling on a couple of your stiff muscles and sigh. You love your friends, really, but - despite what Roxy said, this feels like… that stuff. Like she knows you can’t take care of yourself, so she’s going to do it for you. Like she’ll be there when you wake up, and maybe when you do, you can <i>not</i> do any of the bullshit you’re thinking about, thank you very much. “Sure.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Mkay, let me just-” Roxy reaches out and gently plucks your shades from your face, then places her hand on your forehead. Her eyes flicker dark blue, and then you’re asleep. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You have no idea what time it is when you wake up. There’s a blanket carefully pulled over you, sunlight streams in through the windows, a fan whirrs on the ceiling, and Roxy smiles at you from the chair she pulled up next to your bed. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Hey, Di-Stri,” she says. “Feeling any better?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You hate to admit it, but… “Yeah.” Now that you’re not exhausted and considerably less sore, though, it comes to your attention that you’re kind of hungry, and - oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Of <i>course</i> this happened today, of <i>course</i> it happened while Roxy was sitting and presumably watching you, it doesn’t look like she’s noticed but there’ll be no way to hide it if you get up, and goddamnit, you’re almost twenty years old and a literal god. You’d really think you’d have outgrown wetting the bed by now. “Uh. I’m still pretty tired, though. I think I might go back to sleep.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Roxy purses her lips. “Not that I want to stop you from sleeping, but I really think you should eat something, hon. You were out for almost twelve hours, and I’d hate to make you feel worse by letting you sleep on an empty stomach.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“If I end up feeling worse after going back to sleep, that’s on me, not you,” you say. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Roxy gives you a smile that lands somewhere between gentle, cautious, and maybe a little sad, a smile that tells you that she knows exactly what you’re dancing around, and says, “It doesn’t have to be, like, I’m here to take care of you, whatever that looks like right now.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>It’s - again - an offer. You could take it, let her take care of you in… any way, really, but, c’mon. You’re Dirk fucking Strider, and you don’t think that you can allow yourself to just hand control over like that. It’s hard to think of a response, though, because you don’t want to say no but you can’t let yourself say yes and fuck, your damp sheets and jeans are getting uncomfortable as hell. You settle for squirming slightly and saying, “Well, I’m fine, okay, Rox? And I just want to go back to sleep.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Will you at least come get some food first? Or I can bring some in here for you, if that’s better.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>That doesn’t sound half-bad, honestly, you know Roxy’s a far better cook than you ever have been, but you probably can’t change the sheets during however long she’ll be gone getting food, and you really, really don’t want to keep sitting here, but you also can’t get up without her seeing. “Um.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Roxy’s brow furrows. Shit, shit, shit. “Are you okay?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Yeah, I’m fine, just… tired,” you say. God, you wish you had your shades on;  your face is probably bright red and way too fucking obvious. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Yeah, emphasis on way too obvious - Roxy leans forward and grasps the edge of the blanket like she’s going to pull it off of you, and you quickly latch onto it. Nevermind the fact that clinging to a blanket like this probably makes you look like some sort of infantile idiot, you just can’t let her see. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Of course, though, the blanket chooses this exact moment to disappear into whatever void it came from. <i>Fuck.</i></span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You draw your legs close to you like that’ll do anything to hide the obvious and decide to simply never look Roxy in the eyes ever again. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Oh, Dirk,” she says gently. Her voice is soft, and there’s a not-that-small part of you that wants nothing more than to lean into it. “Hey, it’s okay. Does this happen a lot?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“No,” you mumble, folding your arms and turning away. Who cares if you look like a petulant kid, she’s already seen that you still wet the fucking bed. “Just… when I work for a long time, I guess.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Mmhm,” Roxy says. Her hand falls onto your shoulder, and she rubs her thumb in little circles right where your shoulder meets your collarbone. “Why don’t we go get you in the bath, okay?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“I’m not a kid, I don’t need a fucking bath.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Roxy sighs, but she doesn’t sound annoyed. “I know you’re not, I’m just telling you that you can be if you want to. And that I’m pretty sure you’re about two seconds away from littlespace right now and I’m going to push you the rest of the way right now unless you explicitly tell me to fuck off.” </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>For a moment, the only sound in the room is the whirring of your ceiling fan. Roxy almost certainly knows what she’s doing - giving you a way to admit that you want this without actually having to admit it. Damn, she’s good. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>The almost silence stretches out. Roxy keeps rubbing her thumb in those little circles, and you close your eyes. Okay. Okay, fine. “I’m not - I’ve never done this,” you admit. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Does that mean no?” </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Another long, long moment. Roxy sighs again. “Why don’t you think about it in the bath, okay? Let’s go.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You let her pull you out of bed. Once you’re on your feet, you kind of want to cling on to her, but you force yourself to keep your arms crossed and back straight, you’re a Strider, not some whiny toddler. You don’t protest when she takes your elbow and leads you down the hall, though, and you don’t protest when she gently pushes you to sit on the edge of the bathtub while she starts filling it up.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Alright,” she says. “I can go take care of the sheets once you’re all settled. I’m sure you must want to get out of those jeans, do you want me to be here or do you want me to leave?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“I can give myself a bath,” you say. It comes out a little more grumbly than you’d intended. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“I know,” Roxy says patiently. “Okay, well, we should probably get those pants washed too, so would it be okay if I came back to get those once you’re in the water? I can bring some snacks, too.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You frown slightly. Roxy doesn’t have to do this, you can take of yourself, really, she doesn’t have to do your fucking laundry just because you wet the bed, but… she was probably a little closer to the mark than you’d prefer when she said you were close to littlespace. You’ve slipped into it before, once or twice, and you can recognize the way your accent slips on a little thicker, the way your movements feel less sharp and more like you’re figuring them out as you go. It’s embarrassing and scary, and you wish your stupid brain would shut the fuck up and let you fall into it. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Dirk?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Um. Okay, yeah, that’s - okay.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Cool,” Roxy says. She gives you a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek and says, “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes then, alright? Don’t turn the water up any hotter, and - “ she holds out her hands and brings a small green bottle out of the void - “here’s some bubble bath if you want.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You take the bottle reluctantly, and you don’t say anything else as she leaves. For a beat, you just sit and watch the water fall from the faucet into the tub. You place a hand under the stream. It’s warm, but not as hot as you usually make it. You don’t adjust it, though, save for turning it off once the tub is full.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Okay. Fuck. Time to finally get out of these jeans.  </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You stand and wriggle out of your damp jeans and boxers, laying them out on the sink carefully so that Roxy will be able to grab them without touching any of the wet spots, then toss your shirt over your head and climb into the tub. It’s… nice. It doesn’t scald your skin like it normally does, and it feels good as hell to finally get clean. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>After a moment of deliberation, you pour a tiny bit of bubble bath into the water. If anything, some bubbles will keep Roxy from having to see your dick when she comes back in, and well, if you also think they’re kind of fun, no one has to know. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You close your eyes and lean back into the water, sliding down until it reaches your jawline and the tips of your hair. Okay. Okay, you’re fine, you’re taking a break, you’ll have plenty of time to finish your work later, so… maybe you can let yourself have this. It’s not like Roxy seems to be judging either way. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Just… you won’t let things get too far. Yes, it was nice of her to run you a bath and offer to do your laundry and stuff, but you’re still perfectly fucking capable of doing things for yourself. You’re not a <i>baby</i>.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Dirk, baby, can I come in?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Leave it to Roxy to time her entrance perfectly with your internal monologue. You let the corner of your mouth lift for just a second before you call, “Sure.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Roxy opens the door slowly, like she doesn’t want to spook you, or maybe just because she doesn’t want to drop anything from the massive pile of stuff that she’s carrying in her arms. She dumps most of it unceremoniously on the counter, then turns to you with a bright smile. “How are you feeling?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You shrug. “Better, I guess.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Good,” she says. She steps over to the tub and sits down on the edge, ruffling your hair in a way that you want nothing more than to melt into. “You going to stop fighting me now?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“... I guess,” you mumble. Fuck, you can feel your cheeks heating up. “As long as you don’t do anything worth fighting you over.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Roxy snorts. “I’ll do my best,” she promises. “Is giving you lunch alright?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You start to nod until you see her produce a juice box and a bowl of macaroni and cheese. “Roxy.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Mhmm?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“I’m not - I can eat actual food, you know,” you say. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>She puts one hand on her hip in a maternal gesture she couldn’t have gotten from anything but movies. It suits her more than you’d expected. “This is actual food,” she says. “Well - I mean, I’m not actually sure about “actual” since it’s void-y and all, but it’s not, like, canned carrot mush or whatever it is little kids are supposed to eat.” </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Roxy-”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Just give it a try, okay?” she insists. “If you really, genuinely hate it, I’ll get you something else.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Fine.” You reach out a soapy hand for the spoon, but Roxy moves it out of your reach. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Nope, your hands are all wet, I’ve got this one,” she says. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You open your mouth to protest, but Roxy just slides a spoonful of macaroni and cheese in before you can get the words out. Well, fuck. You eat it, because what else can you do, and… it’s not bad, actually.  And maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world that Roxy’s feeding it to you. It’s almost nice, in a weird way, like you can just relax. Like she’s got everything under control. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Roxy lowers the spoon back down and pauses, looking at you carefully. You really don’t want to know what you look like right now - probably like an idiot, honestly - but it’s also hard to think too hard about that one when Roxy’s smiling at you like that. She looks proud, in a way, and well, alright, it’s no surprise that you’re a slut for validation or whatever. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“See, that wasn’t so bad, right?” Roxy says. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You reluctantly shake your head. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>She gives you another smile. “Okay, so are you actually done putting up a fight now?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Maybe,” you mumble. You saw a pacifier on the stack of things she brought in here, though, and that might be something to argue over. You’re not-</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Your thoughts are cut off when Roxy offers you another spoonful of food, and from there you fall into a sort of rhythm. Between every couple of bites, she’ll give you a sip of juice - “because it’s better for you than all that soda, Dirk” - and you feel yourself really slipping into littlespace. The bath is warm and relaxing, the food is surprisingly good for being yanked from the void, and Roxy keeps giving you these looks that make it easier and easier to just <i>relax</i> for one of the first times in whaty been years. At least, all of that’s your excuse for not protesting when Roxy reaches over and grabs the pacifier.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>It’s your favorite shade of orange, and she holds it out to you like she’s preparing for you to slap it away. “I think it’ll help,” she says encouragingly. “This way you don’t have to worry about trying to say all of those things rattling around up there.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>It’s… not a bad argument. You nod once, and she puts it in your mouth, brushing your hair back from your forehead before she pulls her hand away. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Can I wash your hair, baby?” </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Okay, okay, you’ll admit it - the pet name isn’t that bad. It’s kind of nice, actually. And so you nod, and yeah, alright, you’re doing this now. Roxy’s making it happen. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>A small cup appears in Roxy’s hand, and she reaches down and fills it with water. “Alright, watch your eyes,” she says, before gently tilting your head back and pouring the water over your hair. “You know, Dirk, this doesn’t have to be - we can do this without you running yourself into the ground.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You give her a look that you hope says, I was working, not crying for help or whatever the fuck, and she snorts. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m just sayin’.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Roxy pours some shampoo onto your hair; it’s cold, and you shiver slightly. “You okay?” she murmurs.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You nod again. You probably look like a bobblehead, but there’s something nice about not having to form words. Despite how much you talk online, you’ve never been all that good at in-person interaction. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“You’re pretty cute like this, you know,” she tells as you as she starts to massage the shampoo into your hair.  It’s skyrocketing to one of your top favorite sensations in the world - her hands are gentle as they work through your hair, and her voice is soft. “It’s good to see you not all stressed for once, and I mean, I don’t wanna pretend that this isn’t nice for me too, everybody knows I’m the whole reason for the mom friend archetype here.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You snort a little at that. Yeah, this really isn’t as surprising as it would’ve been coming for else. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if Roxy has a similar file somewhere on her computer. You’ll ask her about it later. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Okay, sorry, I’m not trying to ramble your ears off, get ready for a rinse,” she says. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You give her a Ramble as much as you want, dude, look, and she smiles at you as she pours the water over your head again. “Okay, do you wanna stay in here longer, or do you wanna get out and do something else? Oh, hang on, you can’t answer, can you, here-”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>She reaches for the pacifier, but you surprise both yourself and her by turning away so that she can’t reach it. Something about its weight is comforting in your mouth, and the idea of having to actually form words feels suddenly impossible. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“You don’t want me to take it out?” she asks.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You shake your head.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Okay,” Roxy says, “um, how about shake your head to stay in the bath, and nod your head if you want to get out, does that work? Wait. Okay, first, nod if that works.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You shake your head again, because she’s not quite getting it - you’ve given her your voice and your shades and you need her to keep control now, especially considering how far into littlespace you feel yourself slipping. You pause for a moment, trying to figure out how to communicate that, before settling on pointing at her.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Oh, do you want me to choose?” Roxy asks.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You nod. When you drop your hand back into the water, it falls through some bubbles and sends them flying up into the air. It’s… more entertaining than you’d prefer to admit, and it’s obvious that Roxy can tell by the way she laughs, light and affectionate. She ruffles your wet hair, then dips her hand into the water and hums under her breath.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“It’s getting kinda cold,” she says, “why don’t you get out and get dressed? If you want to take another bath later, we can make it a little warmer so you can stay in longer, okay? Here, do you want help getting dried off?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Your rational brain says, No, I can do it myself, but a much louder part says, Please. You nod and reach over towards the towel rack, just in case Roxy didn’t see it earlier.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>She stands, half-turns to where you’re reaching, and grabs a light blue towel from the rack, holding it out like a wall between the two of you. “Alright, climb on out when you’re ready then.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You splash your hand through the bubbles one more time, then let the drain up with your foot and clamber out of the tub. There’s a tiny part of you that feels self-conscious about the fact that Roxy’s hands definitely touch your ass as she starts toweling you off, but really, at this point, you two have already passed whatever line ass-touching signifies. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Once you’re mostly dry, Roxy sits you down on the edge of the tub and turns to get something from her pile of stuff. “Do you want to get into pjs?” she asks.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You nod, and you’re about to start leading her towards your room when she turns back around holding a soft blue onesie. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“How’s this?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>It looks like something taken directly from the newborn section at the store, just sized way, way up, and it really couldn’t be further from your usual pajamas of boxers and a loose tanktop, but it looks too comfortable to pass up. You reach out a hand for it.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Roxy laughs a little. “Okay, hon, hang on.” She drapes it over the tub next to you and turns back to her stuff. You watch her first with curiosity and then with something between trepidation and excitement when you hear a crinkling sound. Oh, God. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You’re still considering whether or not this is worth taking the pacifier out for when Roxy turns around with the diaper in hand. It’s not garish like you almost expected, and it’s not even ridiculously padded, but it’s still a <i>diaper.</i> Whatever face you’re making must be anything but subtle, because Roxy’s bright expression softens at the edges.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“I know this must seem like a lot, but it’ll be easier,” she explains. “If you’re wearing this, you don’t have to worry about stopping playing or anything like that, okay?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You suck at the pacifier as you consider. Yes, it’s embarrassing to think about, but shame doesn’t seem to have much weight here anymore. And it’s probably not as uncomfortable as it seems at first thought; the padding looks really soft, after all. And it will be much easier to deal with if you have another accident.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>After a long pause, you stick your legs out. Roxy leans in to kiss you on the top of your head and says, “Thank you, Dirk,” before stepping back and maneuvering the diaper’s legholes around your feet. It’s as soft as you thought it would be as she slides it up your legs and as she lifts you up just enough to slide it under your ass. She checks the little straps on the sides with a confidence and ease that seems almost practiced, then kisses your head again. “That feel okay, baby?”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You wriggle slightly, swinging your legs back and forth to test the feel, and nod. It’s a lot more <i>present</i> than regular underwear, but it’s soft and its presence is reassuring in a strange way. It doesn’t allow you to forget that you’re being taken care of for a second. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Good,” Roxy says. “Alright, jammie time!” She picks up the onesie and repeats the same motion as before, but this time she also slides the sleeves around your arms and reaches behind you to make sure all of the buttons are closed. Once you’re dressed, she takes a step back and looks at you for a moment. You want to squirm under the attention, but her gaze is soft and so obviously loving that you’re not as uncomfortable as you’d normally expect yourself to be.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Do you want to go watch some cartoons?” Roxy asks. “I should be able to get some My Little Pony if that’s what you want.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You nod excitedly. You like MLP enough normally, but the couple of times that you’ve watched it in littlespace have always been your favorite. And now you’re both not alone and free of having to worry about getting up to take a bathroom break.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>Roxy takes you by the hand and leads you down the hall to the living room, letting you plop onto the couch while she messes with the TV. After only a minute or so, bright colors fill the screen, and you smile around your pacifier as Roxy sits down and wraps an arm around your shoulders.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You lean into her, still not quite used to the miracle of touching another human this much, and nurse happily on your pacifier. Roxy’s fingers card through your still-damp hair, and when you chance a glance up at her, she’s smiling down at you.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“See?” she murmurs. “Taking care of yourself isn’t that bad.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You give her a look that says, You taking care of me isn’t that bad, and she snorts. </span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>“Fair enough,” Roxy says, and you don’t need to be looking at her to hear the smile in her voice. “...Thanks for letting me do this, hon.”</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="">
    <span>
      <span class="">
        <span>
          <span class="">
            <span>You snuggle closer to her as your response, and she hums contentedly. You turn your attention back towards the ponies, and that’s where you stay until Roxy decides that it’s time for a change and dinner.</span>
          </span>
        </span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>